‘Could it have happened somewhere else in the flat?’ More straw-clutching.
He shakes his head. ‘The flooring is the same everywhere except the bathrooms. And we’ve found nothing so far.’
I go back out into the sitting room. ‘Which room was Pippa staying in, Somer?’
‘Through there, sir.’
It’s Toby’s bedroom. It looks just like Jake’s. Not Jake’s before, but Jake’s now. Full of mess and life and boy smells. Toys across the floor, clothes anyhow on the back of the chair. And along one wall, a sofabed. So, Rob Gardiner was keeping Pippa at a distance. He might have been having sex with her, but he was giving her a message, all the same.
Back in the sitting room, Somer is going through the waste-paper bin.
‘Photos,’ she says, showing them to me. ‘Looks like Mr Gardiner’s been busily ridding his life of every last trace of Ms Walker.’
She passes the pictures to me one by one. Pippa lifting Toby in the air; Toby on her lap playing with a pendant round her neck; Toby in her arms, smiling at her, his little hands clapping.
‘So what now,’ she says. ‘Does this get Rob off?’
I shake my head. ‘Not necessarily. Just because she didn’t die here, doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her. We just have to find where.’
‘But all the same . . .’
Her voice trails off.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’m probably wrong –’
‘So far, your instincts have been spot on. So tell me.’
‘If Rob Gardiner really did get to Wittenham by 7.30 that morning, how come it took three hours for someone to find Toby? We have all those witness statements – there were loads of people about. Surely someone would have spotted that buggy sooner?’
And that fact snags itself against other things that have been bothering me. The tying up, for a start. I still don’t see why he had to do that. Even if she was still moving after that first blow, I doubt she’d have been in any state to struggle. And I saw Gardiner myself the day Hannah disappeared and there wasn’t a mark on him. No scratches, no grazes, nothing. If they’d really had such a violent row, I think I’d have spotted the signs.
There’s a call then, on my mobile. The desk sergeant.
‘There’s been a message for you, sir. From Vicky. They’ve moved her to Vine Lodge. She wants to see you. Says it’s important.’
‘Tell her I’m on my way.’
*
Vine Lodge is a big four-storey Victorian house that would be worth as much as William Harper’s if it was in North Oxford, rather than here, off the Botley Road, on the edge of the industrial estate with a view of the carpet showroom. They’ve given her a room on her own, which means it’ll be small, but at least it’s not – thank God – on the lower ground floor. Though three flights of stairs are an unwelcome reminder of how unfit I’ve let myself become.
‘Don’t worry, we haven’t told any of the other residents who she is,’ says the manager as we go up. He’s a cheery shaven-headed bloke with an earring and tattoos up his neck. Perhaps it helps to look like the people you’re supervising.
‘And we’re trying to keep her away from the papers and the news, like you asked. But I’m not sure how successful we’ve been.’
‘How has she been – in general?’
He stops for a moment and considers. ‘Better than I expected. Very quiet.’ He shrugs. ‘I guess that’s not surprising. I think she’ll be seeing the psych for a while yet.’
I nod. ‘Has she talked about the boy?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not to me, anyway. But when she arrived the TV was on downstairs and there was one of those baby adverts on. Pampers or something. She couldn’t bear to look at it.’
We climb the rest of the stairs in silence. There’s music coming from somewhere, and as we pass the windows on the landings I can see some of the kids outside. A couple are smoking. Two lads are kicking a ball about.
The manager knocks on the door at the top of the house, then clatters off back down. Vicky is sitting by the window, looking down at the kids in the garden. I wonder how long it is since she spent time with people her own age.
‘Hi, Vicky, you said you wanted to see me?’
She smiles, tentative. She still looks painfully thin. The loose clothes only make it worse.
I gesture at the chair and she nods.
‘You got everything you need? I hear the food’s not bad. Well, perhaps “not as bad as it could be” is probably more accurate.’
She laughs a little.
I sit forward in the chair. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’
She’s watching. Still silent.
‘You said it was important? Perhaps you want to tell us your full name? So we can find your family?’
She’s twisting the end of her jumper in her lap. And when she speaks it’s the first time she’s said anything beyond a whisper. The first time I’ve really heard her voice. It’s deeper than I expected. Softer.
‘I saw the news. On the TV.’
I wait. But a thought is turning in my head.
There are tears now. ‘When I saw it, I remembered. He said he’d got another girl and buried her in the garden. The old man. I thought he was just saying it to frighten me.’
‘Did he say anything else – her name, what he did to her?’
She shakes her head.
‘You’ve not remembered anything else?’
Again, she shakes her head.
It’s enough. It’s going to have to be.
I get up and when I stop in the doorway, she’s gazing out of the window again. It’s as if I was never here.
***
Phone interview with Rebecca Heath
8 May 2017, 4.12 p.m.
On the call, DC A. Baxter
RH: Is that Detective Constable Baxter?
AB: Speaking – can I help you?
RH: My name is Rebecca Heath. I gather you’ve been trying to reach me. I’m Rob Gardiner’s ex-wife.
AB: Ah yes, Ms Heath, we did leave you some messages.
RH: I didn’t get back to you because I didn’t want to get involved. I’m trying to move on with my life. But I just saw the news. It said you’ve arrested Rob. For killing Hannah.
AB: An arrest has been made, but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.
RH: Well, if it is Rob you’ve arrested, you’ve got the wrong man. I went round there that night – the 23rd.
AB: You spoke to Mr and Mrs Gardiner the night before she disappeared?
RH: No, not exactly. My mother had just been taken very ill and I thought Rob might want to see her. They were always very close.
AB: In your original statement, you said you were in Manchester the day Hannah disappeared, which I believe was verified.
RH: I was. That’s where my mother lives. I got the first train to Manchester Piccadilly on June 24th – it was stupidly early, 6.30 or something. But I was still in Oxford the night before.
AB: So you went to Crescent Square?
RH: I didn’t want to phone and run the risk of getting Hannah, so I went round there. I was hoping I’d catch Rob on his own. But she was arriving just as I turned into the street.
AB: What time was that?
RH: Just before 8. Rob came out to help her with some shopping. She must have parked somewhere else, though, because I didn’t see the car.
AB: How did they seem?
RH: Happy. He put his arm round her. She was smiling. It was all rather tediously lovey-dovey, frankly.
AB: So what did you do?
RH: I hung around a bit. Sat on a bench. They had the curtains open, so I could see them. They were cooking, I think. At one point I saw Rob carrying Toby on his shoulders.